Over the Hills and Far Away
by yurisnow
Summary: Dean was in Purgatory and somehow managed to escape into a world that isn't the same anymore. In the year that he was gone, the Apocalypse as happened. However, it wasn't how everyone thought it would be. Instead, a disease as spread, causing people to turn into the living dead. Now that Dean's back in a world that isn't the same, he'll do whatever he can to find Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **So, I haven't updated in like…what feels like forever. I know, I'm sorry. I just…writing started to get pushed to the side because of life, end of senior year, beginning of college, finishing my first year of college. Life needed to take the priority for a little while. So it did. But now, I'm hopefully, no promise, back. I want to write but I haven't known what to write. When you know, I came across this idea while reading another fic. Now, this idea is AU. If people seem OOC, I apologize, I haven't written anything Supernatural in a while. Well welcome back to my head and my crazy mind. I hope you enjoy what I've thought of.

xxx

The first thing he noticed wasn't the smell of clean air or the way the leaves were rustling. It wasn't the smell of clean grass or the sun beating down on him. Instead, it was the sound of birds, the sweet chatter in the tree as they communicated. Years ago when he was younger, he'd taught his younger brother the birds talked to each other in their own way, the same way they had their own language, one their dad wouldn't understand. As they grew older, it'd grown to silent looks at each other. A tweak of an eyebrow could mean one thing as a nose flare meant another. It was simple to them but complex to others the way birdcalls were. The human ear couldn't understand it but the birds knew what was happening.

Unlike the birds, the man on the ground had no idea what was going on. How did he end up here? Why was he on the ground covered in blood and grim, a weapon in his hand? He picked himself up, groaning lightly at the soreness in his muscles. His last memory was running up a cliff with his two partners behind him. However, it seemed like they didn't make it as far as he knew.

"Where the…?" He muttered, looking around. The area was different, brighter, and louder than where he'd been before. The trees were greener; the noise wasn't as eerie or deadly. Instead, it was comforting in a way. For once in the past year, he felt like he wasn't alone.

The feeling of not being alone was a nice one. There'd been people around before but not people he could trust like his brother. The need and want for his little brother, the need for the comfort and trust that only his brother could give him enough will to move forward, take that first painful step. He couldn't remember everything that happened before he woke up in the woods but he knew needed to find his brother wherever he was.

xxx

The soft breeze whisked his air back. It'd grown in the past year, longer than usual. It didn't stick up anymore in the fohawk. Instead, it was flat against his head, his hair in his eyes. Now he knew how his brother felt. In fact, he wanted to cut his hair but yet keep it because it made him feel closer to his younger brother. Even though his younger brother was who knows where, it was a connection no one but him would understand.

His eyes were the same green as before, the bright, forest green. Whenever he saw someone, it was the first thing they noticed, his green eyes. Women often remarked on them first, men on his gruffness. Men always noticed his longer hair and scruffy face. He tried to shave as much as could or at least for what he could remember but there were times he'd gone months without shaving. Now he had a good size beard and he wanted it gone the moment he could. It was scratchy, things he wasn't use to feeling. Before when he was the road, he'd shave with the good razors. It was one of the things they'd splurge on and bacon cheeseburgers. Other than that, they saved their money.

The wind was picking up the further he walked through the woods. It was worse than he thought because the trees were blocking most of it. Sometimes a strong gust would break through but other things it would stay calm, just his hair being ruffled in the wind. The further he walked, the sparser the trees became and the harsher the wind was. Swears came from his mouth as he pulled his tattered jacket closer to his chest to bring warmth in the biter cold out.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking but the skies opened up and the heavens cried. Rain fell down, washing away the grit covering his skin, showing the sun-tanned skin. The rain felt nice; at least it was warm compared to cold. This rain didn't sting either. The rain where he was before use to burn his skin but eventually he got use to it ignored it. Now, he could stand out here forever; with his arms wide open as he took in the warmth from the rain.

However, that didn't last long. A large streak of lightening broke through the sky followed by a large clash of thunder. Instead of jumping, the man tensed up and started to run with his weapon in hand. He needed to get out of here, find shelter. Storms brought bad things, horrible things that made even the bravest hunter want to crawl into the dark corner of the room and hug their knees crying for their mothers.

The sound of pounding feet and the patter of rain was all the man could hear as he tried his best to make it to shelter. Thunder rocked the earth, causing him to stumble more out of surprise than anything else. Once he was steady back on his feet, the pressed off the ground and ran even faster, harder. The need for shelter was even greater than finding his younger brother.

It felt like eternity before he found a house. It was run down, a few of the shutters were gone, and another one was barely hanging to the house. The house was worn from weather, probably been built for longer than he'd been alive, then what his parents would be if they were still alive. Maybe even his grandparents.

Without a second though, he pressed tried the door only to learn that it was locked. Running a calloused hand down his face, he glanced around. He needed to get inside and if there people in there, who cares. Taking a step back, he kicked the door. When it wouldn't open the first time, he tired repeatedly until he could get it open.

Holding the weapon out in front of him, he moved cautiously into the house. For years he had his younger brother behind his back, covering him. Now that he wasn't here, the man was alone and had to be extra careful. Even where he'd been before, he had two other people with him. Now, he was alone.

The house was silent and run down. Bullet holes scattered the walls, blood was splattered on the ground. The couch looked like it'd seen better days and even the ceiling looked like it was about to cave in. Once the bullet holes and blood were looked past, the house wasn't that bad. It was nice, small, comfortable size to live in. In fact, he wouldn't have minded living here if he'd ever settled down long enough. It was decorated in modern times, bright colors on the walls, pictures as well, two kids and two parents, the ideal American family - something that he could never have.

He made it to the kitchen, looking for food and water. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he was standing in the kitchen, looking at the cabinets and sink. There was something about this house. There was a noise and he swung around, the weapon in front of him. His muscles were tense as he stood there, eyes wild.

"Oi, caveman, over here," A gruff voice came from behind him.

He swung around, going to swing the weapon down but there was a cock from the shotgun being aimed at him.

"Easy, we ain't gonna hurt ya," Another voice came and he was mentally kicking himself for making the mistake of relaxing as soon as he found cover.

"Yeah, put the…thing down," The first man said.

"Daddy, what's going on?" A little girls voice could be heard from behind the first man.

"Nothing, Natalie, go back to your mother," The father said.

"Is this man one of them, daddy?"

"Go back to your mother, now," He ordered and the little girl jumped, running back where she came from.

"What're you doing here?" The father asked again, jerking the gun towards him.

"I needed a place, get away from the storm," As if on cue, lightening streaked across the sky, causing the owners of the house to see the blood and grit on his face.

The father looked over to what seemed to be his son before jerking his head. The son moved, disappearing into the house and the man went stiff again. "Are you one of them?"

"One of what?" He growled, his senses trying to figure where the son went.

"Them. Are you one of the Bitters?"

"Bitters?" His voice cracked from the lack of use it'd had recently, from the lack of water he'd had as well.

"Did you hit your head or something? Bitters, the dead who came back to life, the walking dead, the whatever you want to call it." The father said, frustrated at the mans lack of knowledge that was going on.

"I'm not a Bitter, whatever the hell those are. I'm human," Or at least the man thought he was, sometimes he wasn't so sure.

"What's your name?"

"Tell me yours first."

"Brain. Brain Carter," Brain said, as he moved closer, his eyes darting to behind him and then back towards Dean. "Your turn."

"Dean. De—" However, Dean never got to finish his name because the butt of the pistol came down on his head and blackness overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Is he awake?"

"I don't know, leave him alone."

"Matthew, stop touching him."

"Dad, he's moving!"

There was a groan from as he went to rub his head. Only he didn't get that far. Instead, his wrists were bound together behind the chair and Dean growled, trying to break them apart.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Brian stood across the room with the gun pointing at Dean.

"What's going to happen if I do?" There was a snarl on Dean's lips. He wanted to get out of here, find Sam. It was top on his list right now.

"You don't want to find out," The boy, Matthew, said. The boy had strong resemblance to his father. Same fair skin, blonde hair that looked almost bleached, and hazel eyes. The only difference was the boy had freckles scattered across his face and the father didn't. Matthew stood about a few inches less than six feet; he had to be no older than seventeen, eighteen at the most.

"You don't scare me, kid," Dean glared at him, pulling at the restraints again which turned out to be a mistake because the butt of the shotgun came across Deans face. His head snapped to the side and then backwards. Glaring at Matthew, Dean spat blood out of his mouth.

"I told you not to do that," Matthew shrugged before disappearing into the house. Now it was just Brian and Dean.

Brian pulled a chair up and sat it in backwards, his arms resting against the top of the chair as he studied the gun carefully. Unlike Matthew, Brian had a slight beer belly and was balding with a five o'clock shadow on his face. Dean watched him carefully, eyes watching every move as he sat there. He wanted to get out of the chair and leave, find Sam but he knew that wasn't possible right now, the man with the gun was in charge as much as Dean hated to admit it.

"Not many people break into houses that are locked these days. Locked means one of two things," Brian held up one finger, still not looking at Dean. "One, it's either infected with Bitters. Or two," this time he added another finger, holding up two. "Everyone inside is dead." Dean raised his eyebrow, wondering what the hell was going to happen with this explanation. "You didn't even know what Bitters were but yet you were filthy, still are, and covered in blood but yet you have no visible wounds on you. You're not normal Dean."

There was a snarl from Dean. He didn't like this man; he wanted to get out of the house. Maybe even kill him first but he couldn't do that, not when the man had a little girl and wife to worry about. However, if it came to it, Dean would kill him in order to find his brother. "You're not normal either, hitting people over the head and tying them up."

"You broke into my house, had a weapon, and looked like you were going to kill us. Wouldn't you do the same thing to protect your family?"

Dean set his jaw. Family. The one thing he was missing, there were two people in the world he could count as family, and one was dead, the other was missing, somewhere far away for all he knew. "My family is gone."

Brian stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Right. Well, what do you know about what's going on outside?"

"Nothing," Dean admitted.

"The world is in complete chaos. People who should be dead came back to life only they aren't the same anymore. They're the living dead. They go by different names but Bitters is the more common of them. You don't want to be bite by on—"

"Let me guess, you turn into one."

"Yeah, you turn into one and the only way to kill them is by beheading. Anyway, don't get bit, bad idea. Stay away from them at all costs. They can't smell you, the sense your fear and uncertainty. The moment you step out that door, the will come towards you. It's happened time and time again, it'll happen again. It's a never ending."

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled at the ropes again and to no avail, he couldn't get out of them. "Will you untie me?"

"How do you not know about the Bitters? You were filthy, bloody even," Brian muttered, watching Dean closely as the ropes continued to dig into his wrist, grinding the skin away, causing them to bleed. "Where've you been this entire time?"

However, the moment the question registered in Dean's mind, he went silent, not saying a word. In fact, he went completely still. There was an eerie stillness about him, almost like he was completely frozen in time. His chest barely moved and his eyes were settled on the ground near Brian's boot clad feet. Where's he been? That was a question he didn't want to think about. His mind was still having a hard time separating before and now. Right now, he was trying to calm himself down, relax because he wasn't in danger. In fact, he knew Brian didn't really pose a threat to him but the people outside did. The longer he sat there, the longer he struggled with the idea that Brian was actually safe instead of a threat.

The longer he stared at the floor, the harder it was to cast the images from his mind. In fact, Dean was running through the woods, blood streaming down his arm. He could hear the stomping of the feet as they chased after him wanting his meat, his blood, and his food source. However, that wasn't going to happen. The instinct to keep running increased tenfold when he thought of his brother. He needed to run, find somewhere to rest so he could heal and figure out his next step.

A root came from nowhere causing Dean to trip, catching himself on his wounded arm. A growl erupted from his chest at the pain, tears sprung up in his eyes automatically that made him growl even more, mad at himself for the tears.

"Dean?"

His head whipped around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" The voice was more urgent this time and he could feel his shoulder moving.

"Sammy?!" Panic built up in his chest as the Leviathans chasing him started to fa—

Dean gasped as water hit his face, blinking rapidly as the scene changed. This time he was in a house staring at a man with a beer belly. The rope dug into his wrists as he tried to break free.

"Dean, relax, we're not going to hurt you," The gun was absent from his hands which were up, palms facing him.

"Let me out," Dean struggled with the ropes even more; blood coated his hands and the rope. "Let me out!"

"All right, I'll let you go as long as you promise not to hurt us or take off," Brian slowly moved towards Dean and he was watching him like a lion creeping on his prey.

The ropes were cut from his wrists and Dean gently rubbed them, standing up and moving so he was away from Brian. His mind was still in Purgatory but his body was in present time. Fingers dug into the rope burns, trying to bring his mind back to reality.

"Easy, Dean, everything is going to be fine," Brian said "Let me look at your wrists."

"I'm fine, I'll be fine. I'm fine," He muttered.

"If a Bitter catches that scent, you'll have swarms of them around you. Let me get you cleaned up."

There was a long pause before he finally agreed, nodding slowly but keeping his eyes on Brian the whole time he moved throughout the kitchen. Even when Brian was cleaning the blood off and wrapping them, Dean was stiff the whole time, remembering all the times Sam would bandage him or pop his dislocated shoulder back in or even stitch his wounds. There was a pang of sadness at the thought of Sam. Was he alive? If he was, where was he? What was he doing? Was he alright?"

"Dean, did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"I said you're fine," Brian gestured to his wrists. "Can I ask you something?"

Dean looked up at him, his eyebrow raised.

"Who's Sammy?"

"My brother."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," Dean looked away from Brian, his jaw tight. As much as he hated to admit it, Dean had no idea where Sam was.

Brian nodded gently. "Well, you look like you need food and sleep. You can stay here for a few days but after that, you need to leave. I'm sorry Dean, but I need to make sure my family is safe."

"I understand."

"Good, now, don't do anything rash or stupid. My son and wife know how to shoot a gun, they've done it before." Brian stood up. "Bathroom is upstairs, second door on the right. You can use the last bedroom, which is to the left of the bathroom."

"Thank you."

"Anytime, when you're more rested, we need to talk. I might know something about your brother, maybe, if the last name is the same."

"What?" Dean asked, shocked because out of all the houses, Brian knew who his brother was?

"Go shower and rest up, Dean, you're going to need it."


End file.
